


these violent delights (have violent ends)

by themetgayla



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, Anxiety, Bullying, Child Abuse, Depression, F/F, Implied Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide, TW !!, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2019-06-19
Packaged: 2020-04-24 07:52:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19168969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themetgayla/pseuds/themetgayla
Summary: Emma has a huge crush on her AP Literature teacher, Ms Mills. The only problem is? She’s extremely shy and socially anxious. (Oh yeah, and she’s a student.)One-shot, AU.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> self projection percentage: 100
> 
> i have the biggest crush on my english teacher imaginable, and since i’m about to leave high school, i thought i’d write this as a type of catharsis. (i’m so sad to leave her the loVE OF MY LIFE.)
> 
> anyways, enjoy whatever this is, and please check the tags for trigger warnings before reading, my lovelies.

Emma has a bit of a problem. Okay, that’s an understatement. She has a huge problem, the biggest one she’s ever been faced with: she has a crippling crush on her Literature teacher. And to help matters, she’s painfully shy.

 

Ms Mills is friendly, kind and the best teacher Emma’s ever had — and no, she’s not being biased when she says that. The petite brunette is incredibly skilled with words, and has a honey-gravelled voice intoxicating enough to lull one to sleep if it so wished. It’s a wonder Emma actually gets any work done; it’s an art to even tear her eyes away from her teacher’s cherry-red lips, tainted with a scar, and her hypnotising chocolate eyes that sweep over the room as she speaks, pacing purposefully back and forth.

 

While Emma says that Ms Mills is both kind and friendly, she may be one of the only ones that thinks so. Other students wholeheartedly disagree, and always leave her lessons with wild stories of multiple detentions handed out and essays slammed in their faces. The blonde never believes them; the woman’s eyes are soft and kind beneath the toughened mask she wears, and she has shown Emma a kindness not many do on multiple occasions.

 

Emma thinks it’s sad that teachers — especially women — are viewed _bitches_ and _assholes_ simply because they have purpose about them and set homework, as they’re supposed to. Ms Mills has never set a foot wrong, in her eyes, though the boys that are constantly told to kindly _be quiet_ swear otherwise.

 

Four hours a week is not enough time to appreciate the beauty of her teacher, both inside and out. The blonde is lucky enough to catch fleeting glances around school sometimes, but before eye contact can be made, she’s ducking her head as a deep blush creeps across her cheeks and down her neck.

 

The amount of times Emma has wished she wasn’t so shy could never be counted. Forget the daring pleasure of having sex with Ms Mills; the blonde’s wildest dreams are the ones where she can actually hold a conversation with the woman. Fear of being caught, of her crush being revealed, plagues Emma at every turn, perching uncomfortably upon her shoulders, digging its claws into her skin.

 

Emma ponders the possibility of seeing Ms Mills as she walks through the school gates, eyes fixed unwaveringly on the gravel beneath her feet. Making her way through the yard, the blonde dares to glance up, checking for the group of idiots determined to make her life hell.

 

Thankfully they’re nowhere to be seen, but Emma refuses to take her chances, and quickly rushes into the building to head to the bathroom. It’s where she spends most of her time, curled up on the lid of the toilet during lunchtimes in an attempt to avoid Killian, Neal, Tina and Ashley. They seem to hate her guts for a reason she can’t fathom — it’s probably got something (read: a lot) to do with the fact she’s the top of the class and carries a self destructive air of vulnerability about her.

 

Emma’s close to the bathroom when she smacks into a soft body, sending herself stumbling backwards into the wall, head knocking against it. She screws her eyes shut upon impact, less to do with the sharp pain now spreading through her skull, and more to do with the paralysing fear now gripping her heart. She could have crashed into _anyone_ , but she’ll bet her last penny that it’s someone she really doesn’t want to see right now.

 

“Emma? Are you okay?”

 

 _Shit_. Well, she technically wasn’t wrong, even though Ms Mills really wasn’t who she was betting on. The immediate shock that slams into the her forces her jaw to drop, though reality quickly knocks it out of her as her heart starts thumping wildly in her ribcage, as flustered as a caged animal.

 

“Emma, dear, are you alright?”

 

The thought of hurting Ms Mills is heartbreaking enough, but being told off by her? Emma thinks she just might drown in her own tears. There’s no time to fret over that right now, not when she still hasn’t replied and her teacher is staring at her, confusion and concern swirling in her dark eyes.

 

“Y-Yes, Miss, I’m fine,” she manages to mumble, dropping her head to the floor as the embarrassment of what just happened begins to haunt her. She doesn’t think she’s ever hated herself more for being socially anxious than in this moment. Throwing herself off a cliff seems more preferable than standing here, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes as feels herself getting more worked up by the second.

 

(Though let’s not lie, Emma would choose throwing herself off a cliff over waking up each morning.)

 

“Sweetie, you don’t sound fine. Would you like me to take you to the Nurse; are you hurt? I’m sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going, how awful of me. Do accept my apologies.” Ms Mills offers a small smile, perhaps flickering with nerves if one looks closely. (Emma doesn’t.)

 

(Okay, she does.)

 

Emma’s surprised to hear an apology from her teacher; it had never occurred to her that it was anyone’s fault but her own. The blonde had been rather wrapped up in her thoughts at the time, so she’s happy to accept full blame for the collision. “Oh— Oh no, don’t apologise, it was my fault. P-Please don’t blame yourself, I was thinking too deeply; it’s on me.”

 

Ms Mills’ eyes widen a fraction at the almost panicked protest, and she files the information away for later analysis. (She’s a literature teacher, that’s what she does.) “Okay, it was both our faults, how about that?”

 

Emma nods frantically without seeming to register what was just said. Her anxiety is worsening by the second, and she fears a panic attack is on its way if she doesn’t make an imminent escape. “I-I have to go. Excuse me.”

 

Before Ms Mills can reply, the blonde is tucking her head back down towards the floor and walking hastily towards the bathroom, in desperate need of a moment to calm down. Somehow she thinks that was worse than a run-in with Killian’s crew (or so he calls them, much to their annoyance).

 

Swallowing thickly, Emma darts into the nearest stall and sags against the wall, her whole body crumpling as she heaves out a strained breath. She loves seeing Ms Mills, she really does, but close encounters are a little more than she can deal with these days, especially with her worsening anxiety and depression. Just making it to school each day is a battle unlike another; she really doesn’t need the added panic of running, quite literally, into her long-time crush.

 

Resting her head against the cool laminate of the wall, Emma chokes back tears and wonders just why she’s still alive.

 

* * *

 

As soon as Regina makes it back to her office — perks of being the head of the English department — she locks the door behind her and slumps down in her chair, dropping her head down onto the desk.

 

The brunette isn’t often confused, she prides herself on having a clear mind and neatly displayed thoughts, but Emma Swan is someone she didn’t anticipate having on her mind.

 

Ever since the skinny blonde had moved into her class in the middle of last year, she’s been a problem Regina can’t quite solve. She’s not your typical _problem_ either — the girl isn’t naughty, cheeky, inappropriate or even remotely friendly. She’s silent. Like a ghost, really. She does her work, and very well, might she add, but that’s it.

 

In theory, that’s all Regina could ask of a student, to produce work worthy of a decent grade, if not learn something while they’re at it. But Emma isn’t like the other students. She seems effortlessly able to produce some of the highest quality work Regina has ever seen in her career as a teacher, yet she’s happy to fade into the background at the same time, consistently refusing to take any credit for her achievements.

 

At first, the brunette simply pegged it down to Imposter Syndrome, something very common in high achievers, but when Emma’s reserved demeanour grew more so, and she began wearing sweaters every damn day of the year, Regina began to suspect something a little deeper. She prides herself in being an observant woman, though she almost wishes she wasn’t sharp enough to notice the angry cuts peeking from the sleeve of Emma’s sweater as she occasionally shifts while too engrossed in writing, or the heavily covered bruises the blonde seems to sport around her neck at least a few days a month.

 

It’s a problem, a big one, one Regina doesn’t know how to fix. And she hates that. But she promised herself when she first became a teacher that if she saw a suffering student, she would not stay silent, so she’s going to do her very best to do _something_ , even if all Emma will let her do is get remotely near her outside of the classroom.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i never thought i’d continue this, but as i said, this is therapy for me, haha. i have my leaver’s assembly tomorrow and i’m really upset to be leaving my teacher crush :(
> 
>  
> 
> **tw for harmful talk of suicide, panic attacks and self harm**

Emma has English today. Well, in thirty minutes, actually. She’s on time for school, as her always crippling anxiety forces her to be unnecessarily early, paired with the desperation to get out of the house before Mark wakes and decides he’s in the mood for laying his hands on her.

 

As the blonde perches on the edge of the bench tucked furthest away from Killian and his group, she wishes she had a warmer jacket. She’s a cold person in general, always shivering despite the mild weather, teeth chattering in the middle of her lessons. (It probably has a lot to do with the fact she’s underweight, ribs protruding uncomfortably, sharp enough to cut someone, though she’d never admit that.) If only she had the money to buy a warmer jumper, she’d be able to avoid the disdainful glares at her disruption. She’s already wrapped up in four layers of, albeit thin, clothing - it’s embarrassing to need more.

 

Her mind drifts unconsciously to Ms Mills, lips flickering up into a weak smile as butterflies swarm in her stomach in anticipation. She thinks back to yesterday, and her uncomfortable encounter with the brunette. It still makes her cringe painfully, and she supposes it always will.

 

Ten new marks were made on each thigh yesterday, a punishment for her stupid stuttering and awkward demeanour. Why can’t she just be normal? Who can’t hold a damn conversation with their teacher? Tears prick in Emma’s eyes as she shifts, her jeans rubbing against the deep cuts. With a blade in her hand, the blonde is happy. Carving lines of hate into her skin brings about a long-sought satisfaction she’s been chasing for years. Each mistake she makes is documented with her blade, a reminder of her failings and stupidity.

 

So far, Emma’s prided herself on keeping the cuts hidden. No one knows, and that’s the way it’s going to stay. (Well, apart from Mark, she supposes, who relishes in rubbing her cuts until they break open and bleed, forcing larger scars, permanent, unavoidable reminders of how fucking worthless she is.)

 

Scratching absent-mindedly at her wrist, Emma retreats further into her mind and wonders just how she’s going to deal with English today, especially in her current state. She knows they’re starting a new play today, An Inspector Calls. The blonde usually loves British literature, especially Shakespeare, but she’s all too familiar with the subject of the play they’ll be studying.

 

A strong wave of anxious nausea washes over her, and her hand flies to her chest to keep her from retching too violently. Emma hates talking about her feelings, she hates reading anything that relates to how she feels, and she especially hate listening to people who have no fucking clue what it’s like shit all over the fragile topics.

 

The bell rings.

 

* * *

Regina watches as her students file into her classroom, keeping a keen eye out for a certain blonde. She grows increasingly worried about her everyday, the way Emma shuffles into the room, half limping, only makes it worse.

 

Logically, the brunette knows she needs to confront Emma about everything she’s seen, to make sure she’s not in immediate danger to herself. But with the way the blonde behaved yesterday in such close proximity, Regina’s not sure she’ll ever get the chance to have such a conversation.

 

Once everyone is sat down, making conversation amongst themselves quietly, she rises from her desk and clears her throat, demanding her students’ attention. “Right class, today we’re going to be starting a new play as I mentioned last lesson, An Inspector Calls. It’s a very famous British political play by JB Priestley, and holds a lot of relevance to modern society. However, there are some sensitive themes in the play, including suicide, rape and infidelity. If anyone has a problem with any of these, please let me know, and we can sort something out.”

 

Regina can’t help but cast her eyes to Emma as she speaks, who’s staring pointedly at her desk, desperate to avoid eye contact. The brunette swallows down the sad sigh that crawls up her throat, and drags her attention back to the rest of the class.

 

She’s about to speak when a boy sticks his hand up. “Yes, Sebastian?”

 

“Why do people commit suicide?”

 

It’s an innocent question, in theory, but Regina notices Emma’s body go rigid, nails digging aggressively into her palms as she clenches her fists under the table. Regina doesn’t want to further upset her, so takes a moment to collect her scattered thoughts and form a neutral response.

 

“There are many factors that may cause someone to end their life, but it is not something we’ll be going into in this class. We will be focusing on what drove Eva Smith to suicide, which is a very complicated question to answer, as you’ll soon find out.” Upon glancing at Emma, Regina is infinitely relieved that she doesn’t seem more upset, and is in fact a fraction more relaxed. (If you can call her tense, shivering body ‘relaxed’.)

 

And then, of course, just as Regina thinks she’s in the clear to continue the lesson, swerving safely  _ away _ from the subject of suicide, Killian lazily throws his hand up. “People who commit suicide are just weak,” he begins, that permanent sneer creeping into his voice that makes Regina want to thwack him round the head. As a teacher, she supposes she should not have such strong opinions about any of her students, but Killian really makes her want to scream. “It’s so selfish, too. Like, do they even think about the people they’re leaving behind? They’re so fucking wrapped up in themselves and they just need to grow a pair and deal with it.”

 

Regina can’t help her jaw dropping. “Get out, Killian, now. Go to the Principal's office. I will not have you swearing and speaking in such a way in my lesson.” Her voice is thunderous, dark eyes ablaze as she watches the insolent boy huff and pick up his bag, sulking slowly out of the room.

 

The sharp sound of a chair being thrown back echoes hauntingly around the room as Emma rises from her desk, shaking violently, and stumbles from the room. Regina’s heart drops into her stomach, and she doesn’t even look back at her class before rushing after her.

 

* * *

Emma’s chest heaves as she collapses against the nearest wall, her breath erratic and unstable as her legs give way underneath her. She sinks down onto the floor, hands sliding into her hair to claw at her scalp as she buries her face into her knees. Thick tears soak through her thin jeans as her small frame shakes from the force of her sobs.

 

She hears footsteps, and suddenly there’s someone crouching down next to her, hovering uncertainly. “Emma.” No answer, just wheezing breaths and nails digging into her calves in an attempt to try and ground herself. “Emma, you need to breath sweetie, okay?”

 

The voice is soft and calming, and it makes the blonde want to breathe just a little more. Attempting to follow the instruction, Emma tries to slow her breathing and the frantic rise and fall of her chest. 

 

But it’s not working, and Killian’s words keep circulating around her mind like a merry-go-round, one she can’t get off.  _ Weak _ ,  _ selfish _ . That’s exactly what she is. Killian’s right. She’s a burden, a worthless piece of shit that should just die. She opens her mouth in a silent scream, tears still rolling down her cheeks like a waterfall. The pain radiating from her chest is unbearable; perhaps she’s dying.

 

_ Good _ , is the first thought she has. It’s sick and twisted but god, what she would give to just leave this fucked up world and her fucked up life.

 

A hand lands on her shoulder. She jerks it off impulsively, and lifts her head, glaring sharply at the person beside her. Her vision is so blurry with tears that she can’t even see who it is. What does it matter anyway? “Don’t touch me,” she snarls, curling into herself even more, willing the floor to just open up and swallow her.

 

Regina recoils, hurt, before remembering what one of her friends had once told her -  _ there’s no stopping it, it’s something you have to ride out _ . This knowledge in mind, the brunette simply sits beside Emma quietly, awkwardly rearranging her legs to sit comfortably with her tight pencil skirt on.

 

She doesn’t know how long they sit like that, and it doesn’t matter. All that matters to her in this moment is Emma’s safety and well-being. The blonde’s crying fades away after a while, but they stay sat there, in an oddly comfortable silence. Regina doesn’t know Emma well, not at all, but there’s just something about her that sets her soul at rest, and causes an unfamiliar warmth to nestle itself deep in her gut.

 

“Why are you still here?” Emma says after a while, daring to lift her head uncertainly to chance a look at her teacher. She’d realised it was her after the fog in her mind had cleared, and she’d peeked out from over her knees - it’s safe to say that her heart is racing, and not because of what happened in the classroom.

 

Regina twists her head to look at the blonde, sighing softly as she chooses her answer. “I wanted to make sure you’re okay,” she explains simply, unwilling to dissect why she really cares about Emma so much all of a sudden. It’s like she’s been hit with a truckload of feelings without warning, and has been left stranded on the side of the road without anyone to help her out.

 

(She’ll go home later and pour out her feelings into her journal, as she always does when she’s had a particularly rough day, or is searching for clarity.)

 

“Oh,” Emma mumbles. She doesn’t know what to say. Is Ms Mills really concerned about her, or is she only here because it’s practically her job to give a shit. Anxiety creeps up her spine as she realises how close together they’re sat; she can smell the woman’s apple and cinnamon perfume lingering intoxicatingly in the air, and it makes her heart pound uncomfortably in her rib cage like a caged animal.

 

“Do you want to talk about what happened?” Regina isn’t really sure why she asked - she knows what Emma will say, yet she feels obliged to ask anyway.

 

“Uh, no thanks,” Emma says predictably. “I should, um, get going.” She stands on shaking legs and watches as her teacher pushes herself up from the floor and dusts her skirt off. “I’m so sorry I kept you.”

 

As the blonde turns to leave, Regina reaches out and wraps her fingers around the girl’s wrist. They both freeze at the contact. Although there’s nothing inherently inappropriate about it, there’s something charged between them that crackles in the air where they stand.

 

The brunette regains her composure after a second and blinks rapidly, offering a reassuring smile to Emma who looks positively shaken. “I’m always here for you, okay Emma? Please come and find me if you ever want to talk.” Regina hopes the blonde can hear the sincerity in her voice, because she  _ truly  _ means it.

 

Emma just nods sharply, and then flees.

**Author's Note:**

> please let me know what you thought! feedback is extremely appreciated <33


End file.
